


fools of the first division

by havisham



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dirty Talk, Do Not Archive, Dubious Consent, Elias is unbearable, M/M, Power Imbalance, Rough Sex, Unrequited Hate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-23 05:37:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17074379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/havisham/pseuds/havisham
Summary: Elias asks Tim for a meeting to talk about recent events.





	fools of the first division

Oh, but it was a _pleasure_ to be hated.

It showed that Elias was doing his job. There had been a time in his life when it would’ve bothered him, the glares and toxic thoughts of those whom he -- _honestly_ \-- worked so hard to protect, but no longer. 

Gertrude’s death had catalyzed something inside him, hardened his resolve and sharpened his defenses. He was truly free from all bothersome judgement. He’d handpicked Jon to replace Gertrude because he’d thought, rightly, that it would take some time for Jon to truly understand the nature of his work at the Archive and even longer to hope to start doing it. 

Elias was always very good at hiring decisions. He was good with people. He understood them. That understanding made it easier to manipulate them, though he didn't consider what he did as manipulation, per se. He never told a lie. Not even an exaggeration. The Beholding only showed him the truth and nothing but the truth, stripped bare of all human delusions that people used to protect themselves. 

Sometimes, Elias had to put back some of the fat on the starving body of the truth, and that, in and of itself was a kindness and proof, moreover, that he remained human. He could have shown Melanie exactly how her father had died, crying out for her to save him. He could have shown Martin the very depths of his mother’s hatred for him. He didn’t do that. And even if both of them hated him for what he had shown them, the naked truth was _so_ much worse. 

Tim, now. The truth didn’t seem to matter with him. He was too far gone, poor thing, for it to do any good -- or harm -- to him. When Tim stormed into Elias’ office, shortly, before lunch, Elias looked up, mildly interested in what he had to say now. 

“Boss, I need some time off,” Tim said, his face flushed and sweating. 

“I’m afraid you’ve exhausted all your options, Tim,” Elias said. “Close the door behind you when you leave.” 

“I’m going to _kill_ you.” 

“If blind rage and the resulting poor planning were enough to kill me, I’d be dead many times over, and by more determined hands than yours. Will you sit down? Perhaps we can discuss this.” 

“ _Fuck_ you.”

“Not my type.” 

“I used to be,” Tim said, slamming the door closed and shoving himself into the closest chair. 

The sound of the slamming door must’ve startled Martin, somewhere in the Archives. Elias closed his eyes and saw him hurriedly gather up the sheaf of papers he’d dropped. He’d spilled some of his tea on the pages too. Really, Martin. 

Elias opened his eyes again and smiled benignly at Tim, who glowered at him. “You didn’t work here then.” 

“How can you be so --?”

“What?”

“Horrifying. If you were stuffed with worms, at least it would make sense. But you’re just -- an empty suit. An empty man.” 

“Like a mannequin, perhaps?” 

“Get entirely fucked.” 

Elias sighed and made a brief note on his legal pad. “Tim. I appreciate the passion you bring to -- everything you do, but you should consider the impact of your words, at times. Some might call you _rash_.” 

“If I reached over there and tried to throttle you with that ugly tie of yours, what would happen?” 

Elias spread out his hands in an open gesture -- whether of defeat or welcome, even he wasn’t quite sure. “Why don’t you try it, Tim?” 

“Do you keep repeating my name because you wouldn't remember otherwise, you utter cunt?” Tim asked, shoving papers off the desk and sliding, feet first, across the desk. Elias caught him and pulled him in further.

“That's right,” he said, as Tim thumped roughly on to his lap. “I ordered you, Jon, and Martin right out of a catalogue. Archivist’s Monthly.” He chuckled to himself, and didn't let Tim’s complete lack of humor put him off. 

Instead, he took off his tie and bunched it up to show it to him. “Here, the tie you found so offensive. Happy?” 

“Choke on it,” Tim spat out. 

“Oh, Tim, you really are --” Elias pulled him down for a kiss. Tim complied, but pulled away after a moment, biting deeply against the soft part of Elias’ lip. Not hard enough to break the skin, but still. “You are still my favorite. I wouldn't forget you.”

Tim screwed up his face and looked like he was going to do something -- unwise. So, Elias took hold of his chin and said, pleasantly, “Remember where you are and who you’re with. If you spit on me, _I’ll make you eat it._ ” 

“Fine,” Tim muttered, dropping his gaze. “I just hate you, you know.” 

“Of course.” With no little affection, Elias patted his cheek, which was far thinner than it had been before. Tim was truly losing his looks, and what a pity that was. Well, he didn’t need that pretty face to fuck well, and he was -- so hot and tight and _perfect_. 

Elias knew himself to be human still for the simple fact that he was rapacious for all of this -- sex, touch, hunger -- still. No monster would long to consume as much as a human could, for so little profit. Only a human would be so petty. 

When Tim was still coming down from his orgasm, Elias made his move. He pushed Tim down to the ground, none too gently. “Do you want me to show you what it’s like, Tim? See what I see?” 

It was times like these Elias liked Tim best: stripped from his false bravado and sneers, with only the naked despair on his face. He didn't resist when Elias gently rested his fingers on his hot, sticky forehead. But he did scream, however, as when Elias showed him. They always did. It did no good to try to describe it. Words simply weren't enough. 

Elias could not say he enjoyed this reaction, but it was understandable. Once, long ago, he'd felt the same way. Witnessing could be as unbearable as doing, sometimes. Watching and being powerless to stop it, and then, unwilling to stop it. All it. And never being able to look away. 

“Take it away,” Tim said, pushing against Elias’ hand. “Please.” 

“Do you understand now? Will you work harder?"

“Yes.” Tim said this quietly, his eyes fixed to the floor. 

Elias smiled and let him go. “Good boy.” 

*

He was willing to acknowledge it, when he made mistakes. He'd thought Tim was thoroughly beaten down, and, frankly, he had thought clumsy assassination attempts were more Melanie’s thing. But Tim had always been quite clever and he knew from experience that Elias could get rather complacent when he was -- _sated_. 

Elias sighed and looked with displeasure at his blood-splattered shirt. It had been white, but no longer. Tim hadn't hit anything vital, but it was still a bother. And clearly, his promises of a more disciplined outlook going forward could not be sincere. He'd gone off before he was even sure Elias was dead. Amateur.

 

Just once, Elias wished he could have someone who understood the stress he was under, and all he had to do. Really, this job was truly thankless. He messaged Rosie to call the cleaners for a special pick-up and changed into a clean shirt. 

He had a spreadsheet to go back to, after all. 

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Queen. Thanks to Sath for betaing. All remaining, etc. 
> 
> I kept thinking of that Auden poem ([you know the one](http://english.emory.edu/classes/paintings&poems/auden.html)) to conceptualize Elias' power, but I couldn't quite work it into the fic convincingly. If you wanna talk about Auden in the comments, however, I will not stop you. 
> 
>  
> 
> ~~Or how Elias should be slapped on his beautiful-sounding mouth, that's OK too.~~


End file.
